The Light Behind Your Eyes
by PlatinumAndPercocet
Summary: "If I could be with you tonight I would sing you to sleep, never let them take the light behind your eyes." Sometimes distance is exactly what is needed to see what should be, that tool to scratch away the surface and reveal what has always been there waiting.
1. If I Could Be With You Tonight

**What I own: A shiny new pair of crutches, a hinged knee brace and a shit load of painkillers.**

**What I don't: Rookie Blue. Nope, not mine. I just play with them. I promise I will clean them up when I'm done.**

**Author's Note: DON'T KILL ME! I know, I owe updates on my three already in progress stories, TRUST ME! I hate that I haven't written on any of them in AGES but life has been a cruel mistress. Turns out, Norco gives me AWESOMELY vivid dreams, which was where this originally came from and I haven't been able to get it out since. Seriously, NOBODY else will talk to me, I have tried time and again to no avail. This little tale is KIND of canon, set around the end of season two time wise. I'm playing with events as they suit me because it is what I do. Luke and Andy never happened, nor did the interrupted hook up from 'Hot and Bothered' as much as it pains me cause good lawd do I love that scene. As usual, you get a glimpse into the future before diving headfirst into the past. This hasn't been beta'd because really, this is me here, it's how I roll. It does, however, include pretentious shout outs to Janeycakes because I love her and that is how I roll. As always, reviews make me grin like a movie star and are rewarded with sneak peeks of future chapters and LOTS of babble. Questions, comments and creative criticism are warmly welcomed both here and on twitter. Songspiration for this fic is 'The Light Behind Your Eyes' by My Chemical Romance. Listen to it and tell me you didn't get a little misty. This is rated M for adult situations, drinking and fucking language. If you can't but smokes and vote where you live, scamper on away, this isn't for you. This is, however, for MD14 because she is amazing and the respect I have for her cannot be put into words. Thank you for everything. **

This place was sensory overload. The air was thick with smoke and perfume, the sweet, almost cloying scent of liquor and fruit mingling with stale beer added just the right amount of nausea induction to make me happy I had stopped drinking three bars ago. The music, if you could call it that, was loud and thumping, and my cohorts were out on the makeshift dance floor almost as soon as we had arrived. Strangely, I was not bothered at all and was more than happy to sit at the slightly sticky high top, sipping my sprite with lime and watching the scattering of purses that were strewn on the table.

'Bridal party bonding' were the words that Janey, one of my best friends since kindergarten, had practically squealed into the phone when she had called the week before. I had agreed, reluctantly, only because it was, as she so politely informed me, my duty as her Maid of Honor. And because I had the weekend off from work, although I did consider begging Traci to switch a shift.

Janey and I had drifted apart after we both graduated, going to different universities and pursuing vastly different career paths, but anytime we met up, weather weeks or months had passed, we were able to pick up exactly where we left off. She had been more of a sister than a friend when we were growing up, especially after Claire had left. There were months where I spent more time at Janey's house than my own, a fact that my dad, while he loved me and did everything he could, was a bit pleased about. Single dad, working full time and raising a teenage daughter? The breaks were much appreciated, I could tell.

When she showed up on my doorstep four months ago at seven AM with sunglasses on, two Starbucks cups in her hand and a ring that was roughly the size of a VW Bug on her left ring finger and a megawatt smile to ask me (or more politely tell me, in her very Janey way) that I was going to be her maid of honor, tacky dress, matching shoes and tears and all, there was no way I could say no.

Which was what had me here tonight, sipping citrus infused soda through a dinky bar straw while I watched my comrades in satin (or, more accurately, silk, chiffon and lace, Janey had exquisite taste and designed our dresses herself, as her profession practically dictated), writhing on the dance floor. Eschewing the traditional and tacky veils, sashes and homemade t-shirts, we instead were all dressed by the bride, a rather semiformal preparation for the actual event, part of her gift to each of us: Cocktail dresses in varying shades of blue silk and chiffon, the styles customized to each member of the bridal party. My own was a deep navy, almost black, the silk gliding easily over my curves and ending an almost uncomfortable distance from my knees, thin straps leaving my back completely bare. She had, simply to torture us, had us choose matching silver shoes and purses, 'because it's my night'. The sarcasm at the expense of some of the more, shall we say, hard to manage brides that she had regaled me with tales of, was not missed as she handed out the accessories as we piled into the cars.

The music seemed to slow down and my companions moved, en masse, back toward the corner table, peals of laughter and snippets of conversation arriving ahead of them. The attention they drew was hardly hidden, interest and flat out lust from men and barely concealed scorn from a good portion of the women, although it was wither ignored or laughed off.

Slipping easily from my stool, I gave a small as I headed towards the group. "I'll grab another round." The suggestion seemed exceedingly appreciated and was greeted with a chorus of squeals and hugs from the seven women. Laughing as I extracted myself from the sea of arms, I shook my head and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

The bar itself was crowed, wall to wall people all in various stages of drunk, looking either to increase their chances of not going home alone, or drown their sorrows because they would be doing exactly that. I caught sight of a few familiar faces in the crowd. Most of them didn't recognize me sans uniform and Kevlar, but the few who did got the sternest glances I could manage. The bodies were packed tightly and the potent combination of cologne, body spray and sweat had my near empty stomach churning.

The testosterone level in the place was high and there was almost a frenzied energy in the air, one that had the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end and my eyes darting around the room, yeah I was VERY off duty, but just because I wasn't in uniform didn't mean I wasn't a cop, no matter how much Something was going to happen. Three years on this job had taught me A LOT, and trusting my instincts was a lesson I had learned very early on, and one that my TO and sometime partner had instilled in me from the beginning. That slight pang that I always felt when I thought of Sam Swarek was there, as always. It had been nearly three months since he had taken off in the middle of the night, though none of us were surprised. Undercover work was his passion, and he was made for it. His presence, that dry wit, blatant disregard for almost all rules but his own and those damn dimples, were all very missed both on the job and off.

Despite our… rocky beginning, he and I had formed, what was at first, a tenuous friendship, one that was built on trust, honesty and the closeness that could only come with literally trusting each other with your life on a daily basis. There had always been an undercurrent of… something else that lay there, just below the surface. Attraction, maybe? Lust? I wasn't sure, but it wasn't something we had neither taken the conscious effort to explore, although one night after a shit day and a shared bottle of tequila we had broached the subject, although the actual discussion was more than slightly hazy.

The shattering of glass and clattering of a stool falling to the floor pulled me out of my slight reverie, angry words and raised voices piercing the air, proving that my gut was right. I could barely see the actual fight break out over the crowd, although the four inch heels provided far more height than I was used to, but the surge in the crowd was palpable.

Alcohol, testosterone and jealousy was never a good combination and it was here tonight in spades. As more bodies joined the fray, limbs flew and the security, what little there was, was quickly outnumbered. Cursing under my breath, I jumped, missing a fist to the face by about two inches. Another crash and I stumbled backwards, backing into a very firm body. Before I could say anything, an arm circled around my waist tugging me away from the melee. My senses were still slightly dulled from the Jack and Cokes I had started the evening with and I blinked, my arms pulling futilely as the muscled bicep that was stretched across my waist as I struggled to get free.

"Goddamnit Sweetheart, stop that." The words were growled into my ear and I stopped immediately, instead allowing my captor to lead me out a side door into an alley.

The night air was cool and damp, heavy with the promise of rain, even as thunder rumbled overhead, echoing the ruckus from inside and I shivered, not from fear or cold but rather anticipation, if that was possible. The arms dropped from my waist and the warmth from the body vanished as I caught my breath. A cold raindrop splattered against the very tip of my nose, a small warning before the impending storm. I turned and met a pair of warm, familiar brown eyes, the same ones that I had been missing for months, just as the sky opened up with a deafening roar of thunder.


	2. So Long To All My Friends

**What I Own: An adorable yoga outfit I wear with the sole purpose of NOT doing yoga, nine pairs of Converse and a revelatory recipe for tater tot hotdish.**

**What I Don't: Rookie Blue. Nope, not mine. I have the DVD's though, do they count? I just like to play in the sandbox. **

**Author's Note: Well hey! I know. I KNOW, I am pretty surprised myself. This is a thing. It happened. An actual chapter from a real story. I am pretty excited. My muse has been on a round the world cruise lately and randomly pops in to scream 'I'm on a boat bitch! WRITE A DRABBLE' before vanishing again. Hopefully she is finally on her way home for good. Elegant, cold-hearted whore that she is. ANYWAY! Thank you ALL so much for sticking with me even when I have been a horrible updater and even when I crossed to the proverbial 'dark-side'. (Though, it really is a nice place to play.) This has been a LONG time coming and I am so, so sorry it took eleventy-seven years to get it to you. As usual, it isn't beta'd because I have the patience of a four year old hopped up on pixie-stix and mountain dew and I WANNA POST NOW. It is, however, rated M for a reason. If you can't buy smokes, enlist in the armed services or vote where you live, scamper off and come back when you are 18. I am SUPER nervous about this, it is kind of insane how antsy I am. Reviews make me smile like Missy in Maui and are rewarded with sneak peeks and babble. The song playing, if you are into that kind of thing, is 'I Am Your Skin' by The Bravery. It's kind of great. This one is for MD14 because she is all kinds of awesome, always. I hope y'all enjoy. **

Cold rainwater poured down, the teasing few drops of merely a moment ago proving to be exactly that as the downpour started in earnest. I stood, blinking the water from my eyes as though moving was going to make the man in front of me vanish. I watched, oddly enraptured, as the water collected in his dark hair, the drips sliding down his face. What was a grey shirt just moments before was now dark with precipitation, the scent of now wet leather and a hint of spice drifted to my nose. I opened and closed my mouth, unable to find the words that were usually always so ready.

"You're getting wet, Sweetheart." The words were dry and delivered with a devastating smile, accompanied by the same dimples that never failed to make my knees weak, although I wouldn't admit it easily.

"It's raining." Bingo. Thank you Officer Obvious. Raining though, was an absolute understatement. It was an absolute downpour. The lovely and delicate navy blue silk clung to me like a second skin and my hair, which I had carefully twisted into a chignon at the base of my neck, was pulling from the pins, stray strands plastering themselves to my cheeks though most of them stayed securely in place.

I was still processing the fact that he was really here, in front of me, collecting rainwater like a gutter when he rested his hand gently in the middle of my back, leaning forward. His lips were close to my ear, his breath warm and mint tinged as it brushed across my wet skin.

"You always did like to state the obvious. I need to borrow you to get out of here. You up for it?"

Tilting my head back, I caught his gaze and nodded, my voice low. "Always."

"Good." Shrugging out of his jacket, he draped the leather easily over my shoulders, applying the gentlest pressure to my lower back as he steered me towards the door we had just exited. "Grab your stuff and I'll meet you by the door." His voice was still low and I blamed the chill that raced down my spine on the cold rain and artificially rigid air that was being pumped from vents overhead. His hand slipped from my back, giving a gentle squeeze to my hip before we parted ways, myself towards the high-top that my companions were clustered and Sam towards a dark corner table.

I could barely make out the scattered forms, but I could see bent heads and black leather through the haze of cigarette smoke that hung over the table. Pulling my gaze away, I wove gingerly through the crowd, the melee having dissipated while we were in the storm.

I was greeted with a chorus of concerned squeals, hugs and a battery of questions that had my head spinning as I returned to my friends, taking a long pull to drain my soda glass before picking up my purse. The chatter died down and seven pairs of eyes rested on me expectantly. Damn. Fiddling with the straw in my glass, I hazarded a glance to the smoky corner and saw Sam stand, his lips moving and dimples flashing as he bid his cohorts goodnight.

"I'm fine, I promise, just wet, I ducked outside during the fight and narrowly missed a concussion." It wasn't entirely untrue, just a little tiny bit. "I'm think I'm gonna head back to the hotel, I'm freezing and I think my dress has had it for the night." Another chorus of drunk apologies and goodbye hugs and I was almost home free, or hotel-free as it were. I did feel bad about leaving Janey but I knew that she would manage with the others, she always did. No matter where she went, Janey always made her own fun. I embraced her warmly, with a sincere apology before I pulled away. A small smile played on her lips and she leaned closer, tugging lightly at the sleeve of the obviously borrowed leather jacket. "He's worth it. Have fun." Without another word to me, my friend turned and vanished into the crowd, a line of blue clad bridesmaids behind her.

Shaking my head slightly, I made a beeline for the door, scanning for Sam as carefully as I could to no avail in the darkened hallway. The warm weight of an arm draped across my shoulders took me momentarily by surprise and I glanced up and gave Sam what I hoped was a winning smile as I fell into step beside him. I could barely hear him, his voice low against the din of the music that still blasted from the main part of the club, but his breath was warm against my skin and I could barely smell the whiskey and nicotine that it carried. "Come on sweetheart, let's get out of here." The hand on my shoulder drifted down my back, slipping beneath the wet leather to rest on the exposed skin at the base of my spine.

My steps faltered slightly at the intimate touch and I hoped anyone watching, and they WERE watching, would chalk it up to the alcohol. It was far from a challenge not to look back as I was easily steered out of the club, quickly growing accustomed to the warm pressure on my back.

The rain had tapered off slightly, instead of sheets it simply fell in buckets and any small amount of warming up that had taken place during the minutes that we had been inside was quickly undone as we were both drenched instantly. Fortunately, the hotel was just a few blocks away.

The low rumble of thunder combined with the pounding of rain on the asphalt to provide the soundtrack for our brief walk, the easy silence that had long ago developed between us slipping back into place as though it hadn't been three months since he had vanished into thin air.

I gave a smile to the doormen as we arrived at the high-rise building and ducked inside, hiding a frown as Swarek's hand slipped from my back. Pausing briefly inside to door, I shake the rainwater off my purse and flip it open, fishing out one of the key cards to hand over to my thoroughly drenched partner.

"1505. Go ahead, I'll be right up." I didn't wait for an answer, instead turning on my heel and heading towards the concierge desk. A few words and fifteen minutes later, I paid the well-dressed gentleman, including what I would normally consider a ridiculously large tip, and headed towards the elevators. The wet leather that was still draped over my shoulders was growing uncomfortable, though I was reluctant to take it off, more for the faint scent that clung to the fabric, that the warmth it supplied. Bag clutched firmly in hand, I watched as the elevator buttons lit up, worrying my bottom lip between my teeth.

I was being ridiculous and I knew it. Granted it had been a few months but nothing had changed. This was Sam; my sarcastic, opinionated, rule breaking partner, the same person who knew me better than nearly anyone. All he needed was a hand out of a messy situation and I happened to be convenient.

So why were my hands shaking?

The soft whir of the elevator doors opening pulled me from my reverie and I shook my head, banishing the lingering thoughts from my mind. I was freezing and drenched and the only thing I wanted was a shower, my pajamas and to crawl into the luxurious bed and sleep for hours.

Juggling the bags between hands, I stopped and pulled my key card from my purse and slid it into the lock. I could barely hear the low hum of music through the door and a smile tugged at my lips as I placed it. Swarek had found my IPod. Pushing the door open, I entered the ridiculously large room and turned, locking both of the mechanisms on the door, more out of habit than anything else.

"Made yourself at home, huh?" I started to speak before I had turned back around, double checking the locks. The low chuckle I received in response sent a shiver down my spine and I turned, my throat going dry.

"You could say that." I'd seen Sam Swarek nearly naked on more occasions that I could remember, starting from the first day we had met. That, however, did very little to prepare me for the sight in front of me. There was something about the cold metal and grey walls of the locker room that made things almost… asexual. Here, fresh from a shower wrapped in a towel and surrounded by lush furnishings, the rain spattering against the windows and partially obscuring the view of the city beyond, I could categorically say that was not the case.

I reacted purely on instinct and stopped fighting the impulse that I'd had since the moment Sam's voice had whispered in my ear in the middle of a damn bar fight. My purse and the bag I'd been holding hit the plush carpet with a muted thud and I nearly ran across the room, throwing my arms around Sam's neck, my words muffled against his bare shoulder.

"I've missed you."


End file.
